Ragdoll: The Creation of a Villian
by SilverSpoken63
Summary: Samantha O'Reilly, formerly Crane, has been assigned to the daunting task of therapy with the Joker. With Jonathan's past still following her, can she somehow move on to a normal life? Or will the Joker unleash the monster that's hiding within? Post Dark Knight/AU, doesn't follow into TDKR. Please R&R!
1. Welcome Home

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the unfamiliars. Mainly, Samantha O'Reilly. This is my first fanfic I'm willing to publish and would greatly appreciate CONSTRUCTIVE criticism! I truly hope you enjoy!**

Arkham Asylum's exterior was something to marvel. What appeared to be a Gothic building housed some of the most notorious criminals in Gotham history. A young woman brushed her coat off and shook her head. After a year who would have thought, she would ever step back into this horrid place. A guard greeted her and they exchanged a few brief words. The guard then led her up the cement stairs and opened the door for her; pausing briefly she inhaled and walked in. Inside, the floor was a polished marble and walls were littered with framed pictures of predecessors before her time. A young receptionist was busy talking on her headset and filing her ever so important nails. She took one glance up and proceeded to say something in the pager phone. Moments later, an old man with hardly any hair greeted the woman.

"Dr. Crane, how good of you to re-join us," said a man who immediately enveloped her in a hug. The young woman tried to hug back but felt no need as he was hugging for the both of them.

"Dr. Harrington, I've gone back to my maiden name if you don't mind," she replied hastily. Any reminder of her former love was a bad one. "It's Dr. O'Reilly now."

"As you wish Doctor," he replied, smiling to have his prized student back. "Anyways, I'm glad you decided to come back, there's a new patient that no one will touch and I knew you'd leap at the chance."

"Thanks, we both know who he is though, I doubt I'll ever figure him out," Dr. O'Reilly said. "If you don't mind, however, I would like to go to my office and set up. I remember the rules – nothing that can be used as a violent weapon, pens and pencils are to be kept in a locked drawer."

"Yes, yes, nothing's changed. Unfortunately, the office will be the one you and Jonathan shared; it was the only one available. I took the liberty of removing his things and replacing the furniture with something more contemporary. Now if you excuse me, I've a meeting with some board members. Good luck Samantha." Dr. Harrington turned on his heel and walked quickly to the right corridor. Samantha clicked her tongue and took the left corridor.

The memories started to consume her; only a year ago was when she was happily married to a brilliant psychiatrist; a passion they both shared. Dinners with board members, luncheons with friends, and events held by the wealthy Bruce Wayne encompassed her every free moment. Romantic getaways John had planned for her and him. Samantha shook her head, banishing the thoughts away from her current thoughts. No doubt she'd avoid his cell like the plague and refuse to visit. No doubt a fellow co-worker would spend their sessions working on Dr. Crane. No, her task was the Joker and that was all.

Samantha unlocked the door to her office and glanced around. The carpet that once was there had been ripped up to reveal a beautiful hard wood floor. The brown leather sofa and chair set was missing. Samantha's eyes closed as she remembered when the set was first brought in.

_"Oh John!" she exclaimed her eyes filled with excitement. The sofa and chair set she had her eyes set on was now sitting in front of her._

_"I told you I'd surprise you, Sam," the handsome man said as he kissed his wife passionately. "And how often have I disappointed you?"_

_"Never," she replied. "It looks like the cliche ones in the movies, its perfect!"_

Samantha opened her now tear-filled eyes. In place of her beloved sofa set was a hard looking black leather couch and even more uncomfortable black leather chair. The one piece of furniture that remained was her cherry wood executive desk she had bought with her first paycheck. A janitor must have polished it. She walked over to the dark drapes and pulled them back to reveal the mid-morning sun. The room lit up like Christmas morning and it was clear someone had dusted. Few dust particles were present in the light, which spread over the entire room.

She sat in her chair and sighed. I guess getting back into the swing of things isn't the greatest feeling at first, she mused. Opening up the folder that Dr. Harrington gave made her wish she hadn't. The top picture was of a disfigured man in horribly done clown make-up. The outfit of choice looked like was plum colored and resembled a bad version of Willy Wonka. Pictures of gruesome murders and devious acts followed and it was complete with articles of Gotham General being blown up. Therefore, no one had taken the daunting task of "therapy" with the Joker, and that meant she had to try.

After spending what seemed hours flicking through her patient's file, curiosity got the better of Samantha O'Reilly. Standing up, she stretched her tired body. A cup of coffee would wake me up, she thought, and perhaps a bagel. Exiting her room, she locked the door, as it was one of the many rules at Arkham Asylum. It had been awhile since Samantha roamed the corridors and quickly was turned around to an area she didn't recall. After a couple of minutes wandering the second floor she had found the way she needed to go when she heard a familiar voice.

"I'd know that perfume anywhere," it said. Samantha stopped dead in her tracks and turned to where the voice came from. The door on cell number 204 had a name that sent chills through her body: Jonathan Crane. She moved to the side so if he peered out, he wouldn't see her. "A distinct aroma of roses and violets, if I recall I did pick it out. Funny you would wear it the day you returned. Samantha, I know it's you, that perfume was custom made and you of all people would know that." His voice was filled with a bitter tone Samantha had rarely heard.

Swallowing hard Samantha inched in front of the cell and looked in. Nothing like her mind had built up for her; the room resembled his office at their house she recently had sold. The view of the room was quickly blocked when the face of her former love was staring back at her. Nothing about him had changed, except for the eyes; Crane's eyes appeared not only sad but absent. Months locked up with no one but a therapist to speak to can be disheartening. Samantha's heart melted and immediately felt a wave of guilt. She _could_ have visited more, but she only visited once.

"My love, I'm sorry," Crane lamented. There was an odd sincerity about the phrase; sorry for not telling her or sorry for losing his mind, Samantha couldn't be sure.

"Sometimes saying 'sorry' doesn't count and this is one of those times, Jonathan," she held back her tears. He wouldn't see her cry, she wouldn't let him. "I've seen the case files. There's no pure indication that you are deemed a psychotic individual. You just have a passion for striking fear in the hearts of innocent people. I thought you would just be using your experiments on select people here and that it wasn't supposed to generate fear. Jonathan, I believed in you and loved you with all of my heart and it shattered the day you were arrested."

"Sam," he suddenly reached his hands through the bars and caressed her face. His expression changed to someone who greatly disapproved and changed yet again, briefly into the loving man Samantha thought she knew.

"Sam," he said more quietly, "I love you; I never did any of this to benefit you or in your name. People need to learn what true fear is and how mediocre their lives really are. Something you don't even understand. I wish you felt the same, perhaps you and I could have still stayed together." A crooked smile appeared on his face. He grabbed Samantha's hand and kissed it, delicately as if nothing between them had changed. She gave in, for only a moment.

"Jonathan, I can't love you the way you want me to. I used to and it's taken a year of therapy and enough anti-depressants to choke a horse to get me back to square one. You had your chance, not only your chance with me, but your chance at doing what you loved. Now you sit there and analyze from your padded cell in a place we both dreamed about changing. I still hold those ideals to my heart while you want to scare everyone around you. I still care about you, but it will never be the way it used to be." She looked at him with pity, a genius who had lost everything was nothing to marvel, only something to pity. She pulled her hand away; it was slightly tingling from here Crane had kissed it. She was disgusted at the way her heart begun to melt.

"If you'll excuse me," she started to walk away. Crane began to call after her, "you can't fix him, he's not like the criminals you love analyzing; he'll tear out your soul piece by piece, Sam!"

Samantha back tracked a little and glared at Crane. "And just how would you know that?"

"I've seen the news, I'm not stupid. Besides, I was watching when they brought him in. You should have heard him laughing!" Crane said amused, a slight stupor on his face appeared. "I wonder what he fears…" Was all else Crane said while he lost himself in his thoughts. In disgust, Samantha continued to walk away. That was _not_ something that she had planned and it had left her shaken.

Glancing down at her watch, she noticed the time for her appointment was nearing. _That coffee sounds even better,_ she thought,_ perhaps a Valium while I'm at it too; it looks like I'll need it before the end of the day._ As she watched the cell numbers increase, she stopped dead in her tracks in front of cell 213. Adrenaline was being released and her heart was pounding. Peering inside, she had no idea what to expect.

**Editor's Note: I wasn't sure where to cut it off as I've already written most of the story. Hope that makes you want more!**


	2. First Session

**Thanks to everyone who had read this so far! :) It really makes my day. **

**Latenightreader - No, sorry. I only realized there is another villian in the serious with that name. Hope you keep reading though!**

**Madnessisme -Wish grated *poof***

**Seremela - You know I enjoyed you reading it! *hug***

**Disclaimer - once again, I don't own these wonderful characters except for Miss O'Reilly. Sorry for the length of this chapter!**

At first he seemed dead; lying so still and breathing so little it was almost believable. Samantha was standing on the balls of her feet and almost breaking her neck to peer inside what would be the last place the Joker ever laid eyes on. Bare walls and no blanket on his mattress; Samantha almost felt pity, but reminded herself of what he did and was still capable of. _Coffee, I must get something in me before I can't take anymore. This day is starting to wear me too thin,_ she thought.

Looking in one more time at the man who was more than likely sleeping, she took in several observations. Aside from the scars, no other markings except actual laugh lines around his eyes and mouth were present. His hair was extremely oily and suggested that it had been washed only a number of times in the past couple of weeks. His socks appeared to be hand made, as did the rest of his clothes. She wished she could just step inside the minds of criminals like him, to understand what made them so much different from her. She began daydreaming and was abruptly pulled back to reality.

The man covered in crude make-up was staring straight at her and only a breath away. His eyes danced with laughter and an odd smirk covered his face. Samantha, who had jumped, was glaring back at him.

"So," he said in a calm voice. "You're my shrink, huh Doc?"

"Yes, and its _doctor_," she corrected through gritted teeth.

A hint of agitation graced his face, "why don't we just say I've been on my best behavior and let me go, I really have things to do.," he said, the smirk fading quickly.

"No. Whatever it is, can definitely wait; and let me make it clear to you that I don't play games."

"Why not? Someone not tickle your funny bone right?" He laughed. "I can change that, by the end of _my_ sessions, you'll be grinning from ear to ear!"

"See you at 4 o'clock." Samantha turned and began to walk away. She could still hear the Joker laughing and his voice rang in her head. She hurried to complete her coffee run before her session. The valium she took seemed to not be helping and tempted another, but knew better. Pacing the room, she waited until four. Glancing out of her window on the sixth story, the world didn't seem so bad. Inside the building was a different story. A loud knock pounded on her door and she jumped. _Get a grip, he's not scary, just a bad clown whose ego needs deflated_.

The door opened and two guards appeared to be dragging the handcuffed prisoner in. The Joker was giggling about something and the guards just rolled their eyes at him.

"Miss, he's to remain hand-cuffed at all times unless otherwise stated. We'll be standing outside the door. Just call when you need us to drag him back. The foot cuffs will be removed as Dr. Harrington 'deems it a comfort issue' to the patient," the guard's tone was increasingly bitter.

"Sir, I understand the rules perfectly. I did work here at one point you know," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "And one more thing, don't be bitter about his feet not being cuffed. I do believe it's the least of Dr. Harrington's worries. And I'm sure if you've a problem with a patient being comfortable, we could arrange for you to experience it while someone's trying to get you to pour your soul out to them." Samantha smoothed her blouse and heard an overly gleeful chuckle from the demented clown. "I will call you when I'm finished for today, gentlemen." The heavy oak door closed behind the men and Samantha sighed. The Joker was watching her every move and analyzing just as she was analyzing him earlier.

"Well, well, well," he said, trying to smooth his oiled hair with both cuffed hands. "Should I be honored by your presence or do I need to cower in fear? You won't get what you want, either way."

"I don't understand," Samantha said while unlocking her drawer and grabbing a ballpoint pen and a notepad. She proceeded to sit on the uncomfortable leather chair and tried not to show her disdain for the furniture; after all, it was a rather fortunate gift.

"This couch is by far the most comfortable thing I've sat on," he smirked.

"Sarcasm. Great." Samantha annotated the top of the paper with the time and date; a habit generating from her school days. "Now, what do you want me to call you? Is there a real name or simply 'Joker'?"

"You can call me whatever you want. And if you play your cards right, you can call me 'yours' too."

Disgusted, she nodded. "Uh-huh. Well, where do we start? I suppose you want to talk about your painful childhood, of how you got those scars, and all that jazz, right?"

"Actually, no. I don't want to talk about it. You see, I'm still alive and that's a good thing. And these scars, well, you like 'em don't you?" He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek to make the scar more pronounced.

"We're not going to get anywhere," Samantha muttered, she slammed the pen and paper down beside her. "I guess I just have to play your game then?"

"Oh a game? Sure, I like games," he grinned. The painted smile lit up and his eyes danced with laughter. "Let's talk about you then? I can do this job, let's trade; I'll handcuff you and I'll sit there and write meaningless notes about what I claim to have figured out. All of its wrong you know. You sit here thinking you can make a difference in me. Think you can _change_ me, make me _normal_? You're wrong doc, completely wrong. A man can change if he wants, but let's really look at the situation. The only reason you want to change things is so that you can make a name for yourself. Clean up the name your ex-husband left behind."

Samantha stared at him. She didn't know whether to throttle him or ask questions. Her anger was rising slowly and the valium was wearing off.

"How do you know about Crane?"

"I know, doc, I know a lot more than I let on." He giggled. "I know that this morning you paid visit to him, wanna know how I know?"

"Not really, but since you feel like chatting, go ahead."

"Your eyes. You know eyes tell you everything you'll ever need to know. 'Window to the soul' and all that." He tried to adjust his position, leaning over, then realized it was not comfortable either. "Knives let you see a person's fear as you stab them. It's almost a peaceful moment. Then their screams just get in the way. Or they beg. Yeah, I hate it when they beg."

"People believe there's more to life than being murdered or killed over a wallet," Samantha wanted to justify people's actions, but realized he wouldn't care after she had spoken.

"Wrong. There's not. Look at me, do I seriously think there's some heavenly power guiding us? No, it's our actions alone. People fail to see that. I'm _enlightening_ them" He tried to gestured to himself, having to use both cuffed hands to do so.

"So you think you're some kind of grim reaper? Leading people to their destined resting place?"

"Exactly. See, you sit there, bound by rules and regulations. Being free means no rules. Everyone out there thinks I'm crazy, but I'm just as sane as you. Anarchy, there's where there is true freedom."

"Anarchy doesn't work. If there's no order anywhere in the world, people's morals disappear." Politics was Samantha's least favorite discussion. She always found herself more passionate that she should be.

"Let me make this a little more clear for you, doc." He jumped up and walked over to Samantha; she grabbed the pen before the Joker could. With his cuffed hands, he wrapped them around her neck and proceeded to lift her up to eye level; revealing how strong he was. "I'm not going to sit here and tell you I feel guilty and that I regret what I've done. In my world, I haven't done anything wrong. Those plaques on the wall and your education won't get you anywhere with me."

"I don't plan on curing you," she said, trying to take in a breath. "I plan on figuring out how your mind works; I know there's no curing someone as twisted and sadistic as you." The Joker dropped her and she hit the floor hard. He sat down in the floor in front of her and patted Samantha's face; she shuddered.

"Glad you feel that way because there's no way I'd lie for you. Now, just let me go and I'll say I forced you. Well, I am, but I'm not forcing you the way I should. I told you I could put a smile on your face, I don't understand why you won't let me."

"I don't need to smile," Samantha replied tiredly; she was tired of the games already and wanted the day to end, the clock on the wall said five o'clock. The Joker stared at her for a moment, debating his next move. Instead, he got up and sat back down on the couch.

"Well then, I think we understand each other a little better." Samantha got up cautiously and looked around. Her pen was missing and immediately knew where it was. The Joker had grabbed her pad of paper and was writing something, deep in concentration. She walked over to him slowly, and glared.

"I'll take that pen back now," she said holding out her hand.

The Joker eyed her hand and proceeded to keep writing. "It's not like I'm going to stab you yet anyway. I'm having too much fun. Perhaps you can bring in Batman and it'll be a real game." Samantha just shook her head. Nothing was going to happen today, she thought. _I had better call it_. "Fine, if you don't feel like talking about anything other than anarchy, we're just going to go our separate ways today."

"Aw, I was just starting to have fun!" he cried, clearly disappointed. He reluctantly dropped the pen and stood up. Samantha walked to the door and let the guards back in. After cuffing his feet together, the two guards tried to get the Joker to walk back to the cell. Samantha watched as he took his time, placing one foot slower after the other, making them wait for him. _He thinks he's important_, she thought, making a mental not.

She then fell onto the couch and sighed heavily. She picked up the pad of paper and examined what was written. In crude handwriting, it was a list of who the Joker thought was Batman. _Was this all he thinks about, _she mused. On the list included some interesting names: Jim Gordon, Dr. Harrington himself, and Bruce Wayne. The others on the list, she had no idea who they were. Ripping the piece of paper off, she placed it in her folder for the Joker.

"I think this is all I can take for one day," she said aloud.

"Are you sure about that?" said a male's voice. Startled, Samantha turned around and the billionaire himself, Bruce Wayne, was standing in front of the door. He was much more handsome than his picture showed in the papers, she thought. She already had known that, since Dr. Crane and her would occasionally attend one of his fundraisers.

"Mr. Wayne, what can I do for you?" Samantha said, walking over to him and shaking his hand. He looked tired and troubled; never a good combination.

"Actually I came to see how your first day back went. As you know, I invest a lot of money into this place and I need to know if my money's being used for," he paused, "good and not pharmacology experiments." The last part of it was intended to sting a little, as it was a direct comment about Crane.

"I understand, Mr. Wayne. But as you can see, I've nothing to hide except these hideous pieces of leather they call a couch and chair."

"You don't like them? I had them imported from Italy last week as a gift," Bruce said, smiling gently. Samantha felt her face turn red from embarrassment.

"Well, it's just the other set was so partial to me. It was a gift," she said quietly.

"What kind of gift would be broken in leather couches and chairs?"

"A gift from Crane. I always joked we should have had the brown leather furniture you see in the therapist offices in the movies. So as a birthday gift, he got them for me," Samantha said.

"Oh," was all Bruce could muster. "Well if you want it back, we moved it to an unused office. I can arrange to have it back in its rightful spot tomorrow morning."

"You really don't have to. I just find these so uncomfortable. It's just another readjustment I need to accept. You would think a psychiatrist would be more put together than this," Samantha said, "I didn't mean to offend you about the furniture, honestly."

"It's fine Dr. O'Reilly."

"You got my name right, thanks. Have a seat, I'm sure there's more that you need to say other than discuss the furniture," Samantha motioned for him to move from the door and make himself more comfortable. Bruce sat on the couch and shifted. He made a mental note to take care of the chairs.

"No actually, I don't need anything at the moment. I really wanted to see how you were adjusting to your first day back."

"It's …more than I can take I think. It's bad enough that I have to provide some sort of counseling to our newest celebrity. He insists on either driving me mad or driving me to drink; and I've no idea which one will come first. And he seems intent on figuring out who the Batman is."

"Does he have any guesses?" Bruce asked.

"There's a small list. It's funny you mention it. He named you as a possible 'suspect'. Is he right?" Samantha let a small smile escape.

"Yes, I parade around in a suit all night," he said, making light of the accusation.

"By that statement and tone of your voice, it _is_ more logical now that I look at it. It would take a man with an enormous amount of free time to be the caped crusader."

"What about the tone of my voice, Doctor?"

"Just how you tried to make a joke of it," Samantha said, clearly enjoying the uncomfortable billionaire. _He could be Batman for all I know,_ she mused.

"Look Dr. O'Reilly, I didn't come here to be accused as a vigilante. I don't appreciate it."

"Sorry, I was only trying to lighten the mood; I could use a decent laugh." Samantha stood up, signaling it was time for him to leave. _He does look sad,_ she thought. _But I'd be sad too if my best friend was killed by a menace._ Rachel Dawes had once been a liaison to the Asylum.

"I'm sorry too," he started, "I know this must be hard for you. I did come here with a slight agenda. I hope you accept. I'm holding a charity dinner at the end of the month and I'd like for you to join me and most of the other elitists in Gotham. You haven't been to a function since-"

"Since Crane, you can say it. I'll have to think about it. Ask me again closer to the date. I do appreciate you stopping by." Samantha held out a hand and Bruce shook it, probably a bit more gentle than needed.

Bruce got the hint and stood up as well. "Well you don't have to think of it as a date. More as two friends going to dinner; but if you want a date…"

"Not right now. If I do change my mind, I think I'd find a way of letting you know." A small smile escaped from her. "That 'bat signal' still works, right?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow and laughed. "I'm not sure, I'll talk to the Commissioner," he replied, playing along.

She showed him to the door and closed it behind him, locking the three deadbolts that she had requested upon her return. Lying down on the couch, she stared at the ceiling. Samantha remembered the first couple of months in Arkham; it used to be fun, working with patients and helping them through their problems. Crane and her would discuss patients over dinner, talking for hours and offering advice. _Samantha,_ she told herself, _you've got to move on_. She closed her eyes for a moment, and was dragged down into her dreams and memories.

Hours went by and Samantha awoke, groggy and stiff. Her eyes wondered to the small grandfather clock. _Oh dear, its 2 o'clock in the morning,_ she thought,_ no way I'm going home tonight._ She got up and stretched. Deciding that the drink machine might have some water, she fished out a couple of dollars in hopes that a snack machine was nearby as well.

The elevators were turned off for the night, a new order established by Gotham Utility so that the city could conserve more electricity. Small lights lined the halls and made the asylum appear more frightening that it actually was. Sighing heavily, Samantha knew whose cells she had to pass: Crane's and the Joker's. _Perhaps they're asleep, I don't know if I can tolerate either of them right now._ Walking quietly, she passed the Joker's cell, peered in on her way by, and was once again shocked. He was wide-awake and standing at the barred door.


	3. Insomnia & Letter Openers

**Author's Note:**** I cannot believe that I've made it this far, usually I start project and drop them halfway through. Thank you so much for reading this. Reviews mean A LOT to me!**

"Good-morning Doc," the Joker said. He was overly cheerful in his tone. "You don't look so good. Maybe if you'd invest in a comfortable couch, both of us wouldn't be up."

"You're incorrigible," Samantha muttered. "Would you like something from the snack machine? Oh wait, never mind, they probably don't want to give you anything that good." She spat out the last part.

"There's a little sarcasm, didn't know you had it in you. Run along and see your beau, doc, I hear he's down the hall," the Joker replied, clearly annoyed. He slunk off to his bed and sat down. Samantha shook her head and kept walking. If she had to sprint by Crane's cell she would, but knew in her heart she'd slow down to see him.

As predicted, when she approached cell 204, she looked in. The lights were to be kept dim in all prisoner cells at night and his was no exception. Samantha thought of when they would go to bed at the same time how she fought for her night light to stay on and how he begged for darkness. _My, how times had changed_; Samantha's heart softened. Asleep on the bed was Crane, covered up to his neck and breathing lightly. Standing there for what seemed an eternity, Crane stirred. She knew he could feel her presence. After all, how could you not know someone was watching you? Especially after the pair of eyes watching used to burn with desire for him? In her heart, she knew that she still felt love and compassion towards him.

There was little chance of rehabilitation; if Crane would get out, he would undoubtedly unleash another attack of fear-based drugs; even more severe than last time. Samantha shuddered, she met the victims, some of them with no hope of recovery; forever stuck in psychopathic nightmares day after day. The only hope for the victims was an assortment of medicines, mostly sedatives to dull their minds and feelings.

Down the hall, prisoners screamed, no doubt having nightmares or facing their reality. Samantha shook her head and walked to the vending machines. After choosing items that contained high amounts of sugar, she made her way back to her office and consumed her miniscule snack.

The next morning, Samantha awoke to a start; someone was furiously knocking on her door. She straightened the clothes she slept in and opened the door. Standing eye to eye with her was the Joker and he grinned; if he had a tail, she was sure it would wag. The guards more or less threw him in the room, unlocked the shackles from his feet and left the room.

"We'll be in the hall, miss," said one guard gruffly, making it clear this was the last place he wanted to be. Samantha was reeling. Who would want to be woken up like that? Having a sociopath knocking on a door was more than enough to wake her up. Frustrated, she sat down across from the Joker.

"Sleep well?" he asked casually; his voice reminded her of someone on a business meeting, friendly but never too personal.

"Shut it," she said grimly. She didn't even have her teeth brushed.

"Oh, wake up on the wrong side of the couch huh? Look, I don't like this more than you do, but here we are. You know, I could take up my sessions with that Harleen Quinzel; sounds like she's better at this than you."

"Are you kidding me? She interned under me and her head is filled with air and pure optimism. You can't get by in this world with that much hope." Samantha knew from experience, after her first year in the field, she learned you couldn't cure everyone. Some people didn't want help.

"Didn't know you were a pessimist, Doc. I kinda pegged you for a complete optimist, hell bent on curing everyone who sits across from you."

"Anything but, sometimes you learn the hard way that there's no such thing as hope. Only a desirable outcome."

"You know, anarchy could be what you're looking for."

"No, that's what you looked for and found. Having no regard for any sort of rule and creating chaos. And I don't need an antisocial killer telling me what I need to look for. And I appreciate some forewarning next time when you decide to have a heart to heart."

"But I look forward to this. Why don't you set up a meeting with Batman, then that would be interesting? I'm dying to meet him." The Joker chuckled slightly.

"Look, let's talk about you; you could tell me about those scars." Samantha figured trying to make some sense of the mad man, although she knew that she probably would get the truth.

"What scars? I don't see any scars," the Joker started, then proceeded to touch his face and gasped, "What the hell have you done to me? I want my lawyer!" He once again chuckled at his own joke. Samantha shook her head and threw up her hands. "What? It doesn't hurt to laugh a little, honestly. How about we go _Silence of the Lambs_. I tell you something only after you tell me something personal."

"I don't discuss my personal life. Not to my family or friends and especially not to you."

"Fine, you want truth? The most I'll give you is the fact I hated my father." The Joker was oddly sincere about the statement. His demeanor changed entirely after he voiced his thoughts. Samantha was astonished he said something true.

"Why? Hate's an awfully strong word," Samantha replied going into therapist mode. Her body language changed and she leaned forward a little. Eyeing the Joker, she made direct eye contact, something she hardly did with her patients. His eyes were burning with hatred. Had his father cut his face so horrifically?

"Look, I said I'd give you some truth, I never said I'd explain it."

"Didn't hurt to ask. If it's any consolation, I hate mine too," Samantha offered.

"Uh-huh. I doubt you could hate anyone. You can't even hate that ex-husband of yours. He terrorized the entire city of Gotham and you practically melt when he's mentioned. People can't always mask their emotions, Doc, and you can hardly mask yours. And the funny part is right now, you actually care what I have to say."

"I'm supposed to care what my patients say."

"Don't give me that."

"Give you what? Do you want me to sit here and beg you to tell me why you're scarred, why you murdered people? I won't do it. If you're my patient for the next 10 years, I'll wait until you finally crack and start blabbing your thoughts. It will happen. The longer you stay here, the more your sanity leaves you. I've had mass murderers confess their undying thoughts to me because there's no one else to listen to them. I melt because I loved my ex-husband. It's kind of hard to forget a marriage. I doubt you'll ever know what it is to love. You're probably the child of an alcoholic father who abused you after one too many beers and who ultimately cut your face. You then get laughed at and ridiculed at school, girls refuse dates with you because your scars are hideous, and they're so shallow that they won't risk being laughed at. Have I hit a nerve yet, Joker? I don't get the high profile patients because I enjoy staring at them. And contrary to popular belief, I hold no love in my heart for Crane much less for you. Both of you are murderous fiends who deserve to sit behind bars until you rot away." Samantha exhaled. The Joker stared at her, eyes filled with either amusement or contempt, she couldn't tell.

She got up and walked to the window, assuming that her patient wouldn't follow, but she was wrong. She turned around to see the Joker standing up and brushing his legs off. At first, her mind didn't pay attention, but then in a matter of seconds, she realized the handcuffs were sitting on the couch. Fear crept down her spine and her fear rendered Samantha from moving.

"What's wrong, doc? Cat got your tongue?" He walked over to Samantha's desk and started to rummage through it; sifting through papers, picking up pens. "I wouldn't move if I were you. It might get a little messy." He had found a letter open she carelessly had left on her desk instead of locking it up. He moved towards Samantha and in what seemed like an instant, had her face in his hands.

"I wouldn't scream if I were you doc, it'll just make things worse," he growled.

"What? Going to mark me like you? Do it. At this point, I really don't care," Samantha spat through gritted teeth. If she was going to meet her demise at the hands of a sociopath, she should at least accept it. Instead, he dropped the letter opener and continued to force her to look at him. Samantha tried to look through him, but couldn't; she looked directly in the Joker's eyes. If he weren't a mass murderer, she would consider his eyes almost kind; a deep green with flecks of gold.

"You take the fun away from me, you know?" he whispered. "You try so hard, but you will fail." Sincerity filled his voice and Samantha agreed, deep in her heart. There was no helping or getting through to him. Her body felt limp, the adrenaline in her body was returning to its normal state.

"You're right," she whispered. "Just kill me then, and make your escape."

"Kill you? Why would I do such a thing? I told you I'd make you laugh after you're through with my sessions," the Joker giggled and did something out of character. He dropped Samantha like a rag doll and walked over to couch. He held out his hands and looked at her.

"Cuff me, I'm yours," was all he said. Staring in disbelief, she checked to see if her legs still worked. She cautiously walked over and picked up the handcuffs. She stared at him, waiting for the part where she would start hurting, but nothing happened.

"This isn't too tight?" she asked cautiously as she placed the first cuff on his right hand. He just kept staring at her intently. His eye contact was unnerving and it bothered Samantha. He was up to something and she couldn't tell. After putting the handcuffs on him, Samantha continued to sit in the floor looking up at him. Staring in shock at how calm he remained. The Joker leaned forward and looked into Samantha's eyes and grinned.

"Why are you surprised, doc?" He laughed. "You'd think I would waste my escape on you? Don't think you're that special just because you're beautiful." Samantha felt bile rising in her throat and more chills down her spine.

"Gentlemen, you can take him," Samantha called out the door. The men shuffled in and grabbed the Joker by each arm. He didn't put up a fight, but refused to walk so the guards had to resort to dragging him out the door again. He waved casually at Samantha and grinned.

"Good session," he called, "it was a real eye opener." Samantha watched him be dragged down the hall, he was stilling smiling. She turned around and slammed the door. _This is all I can take_, she thought. Anymore and her heart would bust. She needed to get out and enjoy some part of life before her heart couldn't take anymore. She sat at her desk, pulled out a business card and dialed the number.

"Mr. Wayne's office," the cheery voice was on the other end. "What can I do for you today?"

"Yes, can I please speak to Mr. Wayne? I'm calling from Arkham Asylum," Samantha said knowing she wouldn't be able to get through otherwise.

"One moment please," the secretary said, transferring Samantha to a hold line that was playing classical music. One of Mozart's symphonies began to start when the phone was picked up.

"This is Bruce, what can I do for you?" Bruce Wayne said, overly cordial. He obviously had no idea who was on the other line.

"Mr. Wayne," Samantha started, "this is Samantha O'Reilly over at Arkham."

"Yes, Samantha; it's good to hear from you. Doing well I hope?"

"Could be better; a patient of mine is already running me ragged. I was calling you to take you up on your offer for the dinner?" She prayed the playboy hadn't asked anyone else who would immediately accept.

"Perfect," he replied, a slight note of happiness in his voice. "I'll pick you up around 8pm?"

"Sounds wonderful," Samantha said.

"I'm sorry to rush you off the phone, but I am about to start a business call with some associates in London. I may stop by Arkham and if not, I'll see you soon, Sam." All formalities were gone and it was almost like two friends talking. At his parties, Bruce rarely got to see everyone, and the Cranes were no exception; Samantha had never been this casual around him.

"Ok, Bruce," she replied, using his first name cautiously. "You take care."

"You too. Bye," Bruce finished and hung up the phone. Samantha put down her phone and realized what she had done. It would be her first night out since her and Crane had been together. Suddenly, Samantha realized she didn't have anything to wear, she had gotten rid of most of her clothes in hopes the memories would disappear with them. Sadly, Samantha was very wrong. She got up and picked up her purse.


	4. Searching for Normalcy

**Finally another chapter! Sorry for the delay, I've been busy with work. I've also be abnormally tired. **

**Note: This may be a little mundane to all you readers, I promise to throw a few spices in the next chapter!**

**Reading & Reviewing is always a nice gesture, it's much appreciated!  
**

Down in the main lobby, some kind of news was traveling fast, as all the major psychiatrists were standing there. Dr. Harrington was standing amongst a group of men when he spotted Samantha.

"Dr. O'Reilly," he called, motioning for her to join them.

"Yes Dr. Harrington?" She asked casually.

"Some of these fine gentlemen are wondering how treatment with the Joker's going?" The men murmured in agreement.

"Well," she started, "quite frankly, it's going. He is uncooperative and shows no interest in anyone helping him. I only hope for the best."

"Have you diagnosed him with any psychological disorders?" One man in tiny glasses asked.

"Honestly? I don't see any except for some sociopathic tendencies. He talks very sanely and interacts as such. At this time, the only thing that makes him a criminal is the murders he's committed. But if you can excuse me, I've got another meeting I'm going to be late for."

"Well, we won't keep you. But I do hope you publish in the psychology journal about your findings, Doctor," another psychiatrist said, eager to know the interworking's of the Joker's mind.

"I may, it may be awhile, but I will consider it. Have a good day, gentlemen," Samantha said as she shook their hands and made her way out the door.

After a few hours of shopping, Samantha finally selected a daring black dress that hugged her curves and fitted her petite height. The shoe stores she went to were more promising; she found a pair of heels that were delicate and added a little height, but not so much that she wouldn't be able to dance or walk. Jewelry wasn't a question; she had more than enough pieces she inherited from her family to choose from. Exhausted, Samantha realized it had been almost two days since she had a substantial meal.

Samantha glanced around to get her bearings, there were several restaurants in walking distance and although she hated dining alone, tonight she would make an exception. The Italian restaurant was full of couples and families dining. The waiter seated her at a two-person table.

"I'll have a glass of Merlot, please," Samantha said, smiling gently to the waiter. He nodded and went off to check on his other tables, in hopes of guaranteeing a tip. Samantha submersed herself in the menu, debating between the chicken parmesan and the chicken Marsalis. Her concentration broke and she began to listen to all the happy people chattering around her. _It's so much better to hear happy people than screaming,_ Samantha thought.

"Here is your merlot, doctor," said a familiar voice. Samantha turned her head to see Bruce standing by her table holding her glass of wine.

"How come you have a knack for showing up everywhere, Bruce?" Samantha said, "Should I start to consider filing harassment charges?"

"I was merely in the same place at the same time," Bruce replied.

"Uh-huh, I'll take that wine off your hands; I think I need it more than you." Bruce placed the glass down and Samantha took a sip.

"I was actually meeting some business men for a drink and I saw you walk in. Busy day?" He asked while eyeing her shopping bags.

"Not very, I figured I should buy something to wear for your fundraiser unless you prefer me to wear nothing."

He laughed at the thought. "Tempting idea, but I doubt my guests would be less than thrilled. Do you mind?" Bruce motioned toward the empty seat across from Samantha.

"Sure, I could use some company," she replied, "well, more _sane_ company."

"I understand, how goes your therapy with your new patient?"

"It's going," she took a sip of her wine, she felt more content than she had in days. "But can we talk about something else? I want to escape the psychiatry and Arkham for a little while."

"Sure, how about we order? I'm starved," Bruce commented while motioning for the waiter.

"Me too, I could almost eat a horse at this point," Samantha replied. Samantha glanced over the menu one more time while the waiter made his way over.

"And what can I get for you, miss?" he inquired.

"The chicken parmesan please," she said modestly, the food that they would bring her would be more than enough leftovers for two more meals.

"And I'll have the veal parmesan," Bruce said, handing the menu to the waiter who rushed off to put in the orders.

"Veal?" Samantha was clearly disgusted.

"Have you never had veal? It's wonderful."

"I have, but have never cared for it. Something's a bit off about eating a baby cow."

"I try to overlook it. Anyways, is there anything you want to talk about? How are you holding up overall?"

_That's a loaded question_, Samantha thought. "Honestly? I'm surprised I've almost made it through the week. My heart is in what I'm doing, but it's hard not to have someone else around who understands."

"I can only imagine," Bruce said quietly. They muddled through small talk until the meal came, and then ate in silence. Samantha didn't have much conversation to offer. Bruce, on the other hand, carried the conversation. He boasted about his company's expansion; there wasn't a hint of arrogance, just modest conversation. While Bruce talked, Samantha listened and responded in the right places until the check came. She started to pull out her wallet.

"No, Samantha, it's on me," Bruce said, handing a card to the waiter, "you've been good enough to put up with me through a meal, it's the least I can do." He smiled a little.

"Are you sure? It's not like I can't afford it; I don't have your kind of money, but I do pretty well on my own," Samantha said, letting herself grin a little. "I should probably be going; I don't want to hold your evening up." She rose and picked up her bags.

"Do you need a ride home?"

"No, Bruce, I can manage. My car is in the parking garage, only a couple of blocks away."

"I'll walk you, it's dark out and you know how the criminals are out. Considering Batman's an outlaw, they're not that afraid." They walked in silence for a bit, and it wasn't awkward in the least; they enjoyed each other's company and understood each other's purpose. When they reached Samantha's car, she unlocked the doors and instinctively checked the back seat; Bruce smirked a little knowing that she was overly paranoid and that she would be perfectly safe if he was near.

"Thank-you for your company this evening, Bruce, you made my night a little more enjoyable," Samantha said sincerely. The look in his eyes was more than enough for her; she knew that he enjoyed it too.

"Anytime, Samantha, I think we both needed the company," Bruce replied. He held Samantha by her shoulders, looked into her eyes, and embraced her in a hug. She looked at him, puzzled by his actions. "You look like you could use that. Don't let yourself not have any fun, Samantha."

"Thanks Bruce, you really are a good person. But if you can excuse me, I could use some sleep," Samantha said. Bruce nodded and helped her into the car and closed the door.

The drive to her house took about half an hour, almost to the outskirts of Gotham. Samantha had to pass by Wayne mansion and the property looked empty; after the fire, nothing of the mansion remained except a burnt frame. It would be rebuilt, but there was no telling when it would be finished. _I hope that it'll look the same,_ Samantha thought know that she couldn't handle change well. Her house was miniscule compared to the mansion that it resided by, but it was her home.

The house was a simple two-story Victorian house. The house was a beautiful pale yellow and had teal shutters; Samantha had been sold the moment she laid eyes on the house. Crane and she signed the papers the very same day. A week later, she was moved in her dream home with a husband she thought would last forever. _Funny how dreams can turn out_, Samantha thought. The house was empty when she walked in and out of pure habit she grabbed the baseball bat by the door and walked around the house. She turned every light on and looked in every possible hiding spot.

After checking the first and second floors, Samantha was satisfied she found no one. Making a cup of tea and grabbing a book that sat on the countertop, she retreated to the master bedroom. It was decorated in varying shades of green, her favorite color. When Crane and she moved in, they put slips of paper in a hat and literally drew which room they would decorate. It worked out well; Samantha had to decorate the kitchen, downstairs bath, and the master bedroom while Crane got the living room, office, and master bathroom, while the both of them decorated the guest bedroom. Their unique tastes flowed from one room to the next, giving each room its own persona. The master bedroom had a four-poster queen bed and the dresser was made out of cherry wood. Pictures of Ireland graced the wall, the honeymoon of Samantha's dreams.

Samantha sighed and looked around the room, it felt empty and incomplete, papers sat on the dresser of the realtor she had bought the house from and her intention was to sell it to someone else. _Maybe this was supposed to be someone else's dream_. She wanted so desperately to move on and start something new. Her goal the following week was to hunt for a suitable apartment in the heart of Gotham. _Maybe Bruce has some recommendations,_ Samantha thought, she made a mental note to call Bruce the next day and ask him about apartments. Stopping her analytical thoughts, Samantha opened her book and threw herself in a world of pure fantasy.

Samantha awoke to find the sunlight beaming in from the windows; she rolled over and looked at the clock. She swore aloud and rushed out of bed.

"8:30, I can't believe I almost overslept," she said to the air. After a quick shower, she pulled on a pair of black Capri pants, and a short-sleeved red blouse. The outfit was sophisticated enough for work and casual enough to keep her comfortable all day. She ran downstairs, grabbed her keys, and rushed out the door, scolding herself the entire way to Arkham.


	5. Nooses and Tears

**Author's Note: SOOOOOOO sorry I haven't updated. :-/ Life tends to get in the way. Here's a little more action too...I'm picking up the pace, I promise! And as always - please R&R!**

It was a beautiful day outside, but when she pulled up the long drive to Arkham Asylum, Samantha felt nothing but gloom. _Another day with the Joker,_ she thought miserably. She walked in the building and was greeted by a couple of psychiatrists and secretaries as she made her way to her office.

The office was locked and Samantha went to pull out her key. She opened the doors and a familiar couch and chair greeted her. _I guess he was sympathetic,_ Samantha thought while touching the broken-in leather. She didn't go any further and sat on the couch. Suddenly, warmth and a brief feeling of happiness overwhelmed her. It seemed like an hour had gone by when Samantha pulled herself back to reality. She walked to her desk and sat down; a familiar folder sat directly on top and she flipped it open to reveal a familiar disfigured face. Few notes were written in the file and Samantha realized that she hadn't been properly documenting her sessions. It had only been a couple, but nothing significant had risen out of them; just talks about anarchy and chaos. Both ideas were simple, Samantha knew that they went hand in hand and without them, people could live in peace. Samantha was writing notes and thoughts when the face of a guard appeared in the doorway.

"Miss?" He said timidly.

"Yes, can I help you?" Samantha was confused. He was scared about something and wasn't sure if she really wanted to know what was going on.

"Yeah, you need to come with me. It looks like the Joker's gone and hanged himself," he responded grimly. Samantha, in pure disbelief, sat there. She swallowed hard and rose out of her chair. She followed the guard and he led her down the corridor to the Joker's cell. Scared of what she would find, she was afraid to look in the room.

The Joker was lying on the bed with a noose around his neck, someone had cut it down; the torn bed sheets answered Samantha's question of how he created the noose.

"Miss, do you want to have a few minutes before the Commissioner arrives?" The guard asked.

"Please, I would appreciate it," Samantha replied automatically; her mind was racing, what would she do in those minutes? The guards stood outside and closed the cell behind her, giving her complete control of the room. She cautiously walked over to the bed and sat on her knees, searching for any signs that would give a clue to his last thoughts before his brain died. Something was wrong, Samantha could feel it; she studied the Joker's body and was trying to figure out what was wrong. Then she it hit her; irritated and scared out of her mind she stood up.

"Get up," she barked, hate rising in her voice. Nothing, the Joker continued to lay there. She could have sworn she heard a breath; a guard looked in at her oddly. The anger was rising in Samantha's throat. She looked out the bars at one of the guards.

"Gentlemen, why don't you go get a cup of coffee? I'm sure I'll be fine," she said gently. The guards looked at each other and left rather quickly. Samantha walked back over to the bed. She looked down at the Joker and softened her facial muscles. She sat back on her knees and stared hard at his face.

"You know," she started to speak, her voice intentionally soft; "I always thought you were kinda handsome, in a dangerous sort of way." _That should wake him,_ she thought. After a few moments, nothing, not even so much as an eyebrow raise. Frustrated, Samantha did the only thing she could do.

"Get the hell up!" she screamed as she slapped him across the face. "You take me for an idiot? I'm not letting you play your games with me anymore. You wake up this very instant!" The Joker stirred, a wide grin graced his face and she opened his eyes.

"Well, beautiful, I didn't know you had it in ya," he said while sitting up.

"Did you think they would take you out in a body bag, and then you'd have a change to escape?" Anger still filled her voice. The Joker was still grinning as he undid the noose around his neck. He rose out of bed and Samantha realized she had asked the guards to leave. The doors locked on themselves so she was stuck until they came back. He saw the fear in her eyes and started to giggle.

"Do you like scarves and turtlenecks, doc?" he asked.

"Not really," Samantha started to back up against the door. She moved to the side so he couldn't tie her to the bars. The Joker was in front of her holding out his homemade noose. Samantha didn't have anywhere to move and he grabbed her by the neck.

"Well, then you're going to _learn_ to love them," he said maliciously. Samantha was trying to gasp for air, and the Joker wasn't letting up. He touched her cheek gently, being surprisingly gentle about it.

"You know, I did hear what you said, about liking me because I'm dangerous," he said, giggling a little. "Was it true?"

"Sure, if you want it to be," she managed to gasp. He put the noose around her neck and fear was rising in Samantha's chest. Just before he could drag her over to where the noose was hanging originally, the guards were rushing in.

"You creep!" one of them screamed.

"Back off," said another. One guard had a tazer gun and shot it at the Joker. He immediately dropped Samantha and was convulsing from the electricity running through his body. She got up and ran out the door.

"We've got it under control," the guard with the gun said.

"You need to stop, you can seriously hurt him," Samantha said, taking in all the air she could.

"What do you care for? He tried to kill' ya."

"He's still my patient, stop now!" Not being about to take anymore, Samantha ran from the hall. She rushed back to her office, closed the door behind her and threw herself on the couch. Panic was rising in her chest; she knew she shouldn't have gone in his room. She set herself up and almost died. The panic attacks were coming more frequent since she started back here, she thought. She got up and walked slowly to her desk, opened up the drawer and took out a prescription bottle. After taking two Xanax, she sat back on the couch and waited for the medicine to kick in.

"Samantha? Are you ok?" Bruce Wayne's voice penetrated into Samantha's thoughts. She sat up and realized how disheveled she looked. Looking wildly around, Dr. Harrington and Bruce were staring at her, unsure of what to say.

"I'm as fine as anyone could be after being strangled," she replied, smoothing out her hair. _Why is Bruce somehow _always_ here?_

"Why don't you take the afternoon off? Obviously you're not going to have your session with the Joker today and possibly not tomorrow as well," Dr. Harrington said. Samantha nodded and stared blankly.

"You're not taking me off his case, are you?" she asked, worried she would be without a job.

"No, of course not. You're one of very best, there's no need to take you off yet unless you tell me too," Dr. Harrington said gently. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to speak with Commissioner Gordon about today's little…incident." He abruptly left the room, leaving Samantha and Bruce alone. Bruce moved over to the couch beside her and put a comforting arm around her. Immediately she burst into tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked sincerely. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks and answered.

"I don't know how much more I can take," she let it all out, after bottling her feelings in for so long. Bruce had no words; all he did was rub her shoulder and let her cry.

"I'm so sorry; you must think I'm an idiot. But I am curious, how do you always seem to show up when I really need someone?"

"I just have that talent," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I just know when someone needs help."

"Just like Batman?" she replied, remembering her first conversation with him. _It made sense,_ she thought. More and more she was interested in unmasking the vigilante and she assumed only because the Joker was obsessed. The expression on Bruce's face changed, his eye darkened and there was an odd look about him.

"Just like Batman," he said, rubbing her shoulder and smiling gently. The silence was calming. Samantha just stayed consumed in her thoughts and was becoming increasingly aware that Bruce was constantly touchy-feely. Samantha cleared her throat and stood up.

"Bruce…I think you should go, "she was wiping her eyes and straightening her posture.

"What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

"No. It's going to sound completely cliché, but it's really not you. It's me."

"Huh?"

"I can sense you have some kind of feeling for me. I just can't…" she let her voice trail off. Bruce saw the look in her eyes and got the hint. He stood up, straightening his jacket at the same time.

"I understand," Bruce said, in a more formal tone, he was clearly hurt. "Well if you change your mind…" He gave her one last look and left. Samantha gave up. She packed a briefcase and stopped by Dr. Harrington's office.

"Hmm?" Dr. Harrington's voice was muffled by the door.

"I'm just letting you know I'm taking the next two days off. Just deduct them from my payroll if you must," Samantha said, not even fully opening the door.

"Okay…" he said, clearly confused, "get some rest, Samantha."

Samantha closed the door quickly and practically ran from Arkham Asylum.


	6. Intermission

**Author's Note: I am so sorry that this fanfiction is JUST now getting updated. I've been extremely busy the past few months, but since it's summer I can focus my attention on all of my nerdy things. So hopefully I can get this finished before I go back to school in August! **

Samantha wanted nothing more than to catch the first flight out of Gotham, perhaps run to her parent's vacation home in Florida or visit her sister. _Kathy_, Sam thought of her baby sister, who had just finished up her first year after graduating from pharmacy school. The only time Jonathan and Kathy were civil to each other was when they were discussing the latest drugs being tested by the FDA or drugs being pulled from the market because of their abuse.

Breathing heavily, Samantha unlocked her car and instinctively checked the back seat. A four dour sedan couldn't really conceal someone, but you could never be too sure. Satisfied, she slide into the driver seat and pulled out her phone.

"Hey sis, what's up?" The exuberance in Kathy's tone was unmistakable. At least she deserved happiness, Samantha thought.

She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back tears. "Nothing, haven't talked to you in a while and I wanted to check in. See how you were doing and all that."

Voices could be heard on Kathy's end of the phone. "Yeah, just put it over there, I'll look over those later. Sorry, I'm neck deep in clinical trials; we're testing a new diabetic drug."

"Sounds interesting," Samantha feigned interest; she was educated on pharmaceuticals, but not interested in them, only their supposed cure. "I was gonna see what your weekend plans were."

There was a sigh on the other line. "Mom hasn't told you? I leave tomorrow for a week long cruise with some friends, its last minute but I need to get away from here. Clear my head and stuff."

"Oh," Samantha didn't bother to hide her disappointment, "I was gonna see if you wanted a visit from you big sister. That cruise sounds fun."

"Sam! You should've called sooner, I would have cancelled, and I miss you so much!" After a quick pause Kathy added, "I can always cancel if you need me."

"No, don't you dare do that! Go and have fun, I only have two days off anyways. Look, I've got to get off the phone otherwise I'll get into an accident, I'll talk to you later, okay?" She wanted to get off the phone before her sister realized something really was wrong.

"Aww, okay sis. You know I'm here if you need anything. Love you!" Kathy wasn't one for long goodbyes so she usually was quick to get off the phone, Samantha was always thankful for that aspect of her sister's personality.

"Love you, too," Samantha whispered, but the line had gone dead.

The drive home was silent; no music filled the car and Samantha had switched her phone to vibrate. Before pulling out of Arkham, she ran back in and let Dr. Harrington know that she would in fact return the following day, she just had too much of a shock earlier and didn't know how to handle the situation.

At home there was no one to disturb her and she was allowed to wallow in her thoughts and depression. She missed her home in the city; the sounds of Gotham were oddly comforting. Jonathan and she had the luxury of owning two homes, mostly for convenience. Moving back to the two-story home they inherited was an adjustment. The quietness of everything always set Samantha on edge, because she could hear everything. The smallest hoot of an owl or backfiring of a car would cause her to jump. However, she made it upstairs and fell on her bed, succumbing to a dreamless sleep.


	7. Handcuffs

Samantha entered her office and sat at her desk, trying to get her bearings straight. Opening one of the locked drawers, she pulled out a bottle of Valium and took one; she was going to need it. Glancing at the clock, she only had an hour before the Joker would be dragged into her office. She needed just that much time to try to get some notes written.

The hour flew by and Samantha sighed heavily when she heard a familiar knock coming from outside her door. The same guards from yesterday came in, dragging the Joker who was looking incredibly pleased with himself.

"Doctor, we aren't taking off any cuffs today seein' as how yesterday went," one guard said. Samantha nodded, not feeling like starting an argument. The Joker was almost thrown on the couch and the guards walked out the door. Samantha went to her chair, opposite her patient, and stared hard at him. For a moment, it seemed as though no one was going to break the silence.

"Nice furniture, better than that black leather stuff," the Joker said, touching the brown leather.

"Yeah," was all Samantha could manage without losing her temper.

"Yeah? Cat got your tongue, doc? Still riled up about yesterday I take it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You just love the idea that I probably thought about you most of the afternoon, don't you?"

"I'm flattered, I didn't know you felt that way. So how are things on the home front?"

"We're not here to talk about me; we've been over this before. Today, you're not leaving this office until you say something somewhat constructive." Samantha wasn't budging on the last part, she was done playing the Joker's games and wanted to get to the bottom of things.

"I don't apologize," he said flatly, as he wetted his lips. The Joker shifted uncomfortably, clearly irritated that his feet were cuffed as well as his hands.

"And I didn't expect you to apologize," Samantha said coldly; she moved to her desk chair and started to shift through papers until she found the one she wanted. She started to write, not speaking or looking in the Joker's direction.

"What? Think you're too _good_ to talk to me; well I've got news for you, you're not _good_ and neither is anyone else. People are only good as society lets them be, take Dent for example. He thought he was good, until I ruined society's plans. Now he's six feet under and was just as horrible a killer as I'm accused of being," he said calmly. Samantha looked up; checking his face for any sort of expression, there was none.

"No, you fight a never ending battle. People are inherently good or evil depending on how you look at life. You can sit there and tell me there is no such thing as a good person, but you are wrong, dead wrong. You fight an inconsistent battle in yourself over what is right or what is wrong." Samantha continued to write, the Joker looked in her direction, eyeing her curiously. "And what do you mean, killer? He died an honorable man, considering how he was tortured."

"Now, now beautiful, don't tell me lies. I don't fight an inner battle between good and evil. I _am_ evil, I _am_ chaos, and no one but a select few will ever understand. It was more fun playing my games than killing people or getting money. This was never about money, never. What would I do with money? Plastic surgery?" He giggled at his own joke. "What are you writing anyways?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Oh, _very_ mature." The Joker shifted uncomfortably, trying to find some position that would provide comfort.

"Comfortable?" Samantha asked snidely, she didn't feel like being nice. She pulled out a small set of keys from her pocket and sat them on her desk; the Joker's eyes widened a little.

A smile spread across the Joker's face, further emphasizing the slashes in his cheeks."Well, it looks like you can make me a bit more comfortable."

"No, not until you offer something more than talk about chaos. And not until you _promise_ me that you will not touch me the way you did yesterday," the last part was almost spit out. The Joker grinned and just sat there for a moment. "Well, if you don't, you can either go back to your cell or just sit there. Either way, I just don't care today."

"I'll go back to my room; I don't compromise with anyone," he folded his hands and just stared Samantha down. She got up slowly and walked over to him, putting her hands on her knees and meeting the Joker at eye-level.

"Good, I was hoping you'd say that. And since you seem to love your bracelets so much, I'm going to let you keep them on until you decide to see me next, ok?" Samantha smirked at the Joker.

He leaned in and was so close, he could touch noses with Samantha. "There's no talking to you, is there?" She asked quietly.

"Not really, unless it's something I find interesting. Just take me back to my cell," he replied, sounding slightly defeated. He knew from the look in Samantha's eyes, she wouldn't budge. He pulled back, looked her in the eyes, and just smiled. Samantha got up and let the guards take the Joker back to his cell. Samantha closed the door behind them and went back to her desk. She shifted through her notes, trying to make sense of the Joker's chaos and was getting nowhere, nothing made sense at all. After a couple of hours, Samantha came up with nothing. The only bit of substantial information was the fact he hated his father, nothing else revealed a single thing.

Weeks went by and Samantha worked hard, each day, getting nowhere further with the Joker. He incessantly tried to ask her questions and flirt around Samantha's questions for him.

The Joker thought he had every inch of Samantha pegged and it scared her how right he could be sometimes. He would sit and cackle incessantly, while Samantha tried to crack his spirit, crack the hard exterior he held onto so dear. Her colleagues would continue to ask if she had put a dent in the mysterious past of the Joker, but were disappointed to find out she hadn't gotten any further.

On the day of the charity event, her morning appointment with the Joker seemed to go a bit differently. He was dragged in as usual, by the usual guards, and placed on the couch. He examined his cuffed hands and eyed Samantha hatefully.

"You know, there are permanent markings on my wrists from the handcuffs," he said. Samantha returned the gaze and said nothing. She moved to her usual chair across from him. "You could make it easier and loosen them a bit."

"I don't offer any comfort to you until you offer information to me. I have told you day after day, I'm done playing your games," Samantha said, making no eye contact and writing on her legal pad. The Joker shifted on the couch.

"Uncomfortable?" she questioned quietly, once again making no effort whatsoever.

"A bit," he replied shortly and more hatefully than ever. "And secondly, shouldn't you sit _closer_ to the patient?"

True, Samantha had chosen to sit at her desk today. "I, unlike you, am quite comfortable." There was silence afterwards. She didn't care how long Joker sat there; she would make him crack like a Faberge egg - into a million pieces. No music was playing and she could hear his agitated breathing from across the room. A soft _click_ echoed throughout the room, the handcuffs made a _thud_ as they hit the floor.

Joker had un-cuffed himself, with what, Samantha did not know. She didn't scream, just sat in awe. "I'm a 'jack-of-all-trades', Sam," he stressed her name with such hatred, she dare not speak, "you think you can cure me, can 'fix me'. You're wrong, dead wrong. You see, it all starts when someone _hurts_ you." He paused, moving closer to her desk.

"There's a panic button," Samantha whispered, afraid the volume of her voice would further set him off, "I've pressed it."

"No, you have not, the guards would've been here by now," a malicious grin stretched across his un-painted face. He moved quickly towards her, placing one arm on each shoulder, pinning her to the chair. "Once they hurt you," he continued his thoughts more quietly, "you start developing a madness. How will you avenge yourself? Murder seems too easy: you want them to suf-fer. You want them to scream every night, wishing the pain would stop. I'm going to make you want this madness, Sam. You'll understand everything then." He put Samantha in the handcuffs and reached over for the phone. He didn't say anything and she could hear a faint voice on the other line. Moments later, there was a knock on the door.

"Oh we have company!" He practically skipped to the door, opened it slightly, and peeked outside. Satisfied with who he saw, he let the guard in. Samantha's eye widened.

"Seriously?" Was all she could muster.

"Yes, dear, sweet Sam. We're gonna play a game. This here is one of my employees, he got the job months before I came here. It's always good to be prepared. I'm going to wire this bomb to your chest, then un-handcuff you. I'll hand _this_ detonator to the guard and if you make so much as a peep about what's going on, oops! You won't live to tell about it. Just do exactly as you're told." He started to unbutton Samantha's shirt and she had every urge to kick him in the groin, but refrained. Once the Joker had practically pulled her blouse off, he whistled and nudged the guard.

"Would ya look at that? She's not a prude after all." He was admiring her choice of bra – a black lacy balconette which she chose specifically for the party.

"Just get on with it," she said through gritted teeth. He sighed, clearly disappointed, and taped the miniature bomb on her abdomen. "If you will," he gestured to her un-buttoned shirt, "I don't like cleaning up." His snicker filled her heart with disgust.

"Now," he said, moving away from her chair, "I'm going to be hand-cuffed again. You're telling the Warden and any other doctor that you've got to take me to a special facility. You can fill in the blanks as you go, you're smart. Drop one hint about what's going on and I'll make sure that you'll never leave Arkham, you'll be so splattered against the wall, and they won't find all the pieces." A wide grin spread across his face. _Probably imagining me exploding,_ she thought.

The guard cuffed the Joker and walked towards the door. Samantha was going to reach for her purse and belongings and was told to leave them behind. She stepped in front of the guard and led them down the corridor. The elevator was playing a jazz number and the alto sax player was clearly improvising, just note after note blared through the speakers. The Joker hummed along, annoying Samantha further. She clicked her tongue.

"Aw, don't hate me just yet," he said, "the fun's gonna start soon. Then you'll really wanna kill me!" The elevator came to a halt, making Samantha's stomach to do a flip. She stepped out as the doors opened and took a gulp of air. The lobby was oddly empty. _Everyone's probably taken a half-day to get ready for Bruce's party._ They walked out, to Samantha's dismay, with not a sole asking her any questions.

A white, un-marked van waited for them. The guard opened the sliding door and gestured for both the Joker and Samantha to get inside. The guard took the driver's seat and threw the keys to the Joker. Gleefully, he un-cuffed himself, he then ripped Samantha's shirt open, buttons and all, and ripped the bomb off of her. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.

"That's just the beginning, my dear," he whispered, caressing her cheek. Samantha's heart beat at a faster pace. The Joker leaned forward and whispered directions to the driver. In the back, Samantha couldn't tell where they were going; just that the van made various left turns and the occasional right. She was trying not to look at anyone, and kept her head down; silently praying. Then everything went pitch black.


	8. The Search Begins

__**Author's Note: Sorry it's been awhile since my last update. For some reason, the only times I'm motivated or inspired to write are when I'm at work. . I also end up rewriting it a few times before it actually gets put up here, so excuse my grammatical errors. Please R&R, it makes me a happy person!  
**

_Music played in the background. It had an almost _too_ melodic sound and the atmosphere felt whimsical. Samantha was standing by a large table of food, just looking at the amazing spread made her stomach growl. She remembered that the past few weeks had left her too stressed to eat a proper meal. Her gaze flitted past the cocktail shrimp, fruit trays, and glasses of wine to the dance floor. Ugh, masquerade balls were something she hated the most, Samantha thought as she wrinkled her nose and sipped some champagne she forgot she was holding. How cliché was it for the upper crust of Gotham to hold a masquerade fundraiser, where everyone wore black or white and contrasting masks?_

_ Even though everyone was "disguised" she could recognize the mayor, the new district attorney, and even Bruce Wayne. Of course he had a flock of beautiful women around him and for a second, Samantha wanted to approach him, to laugh at the same jokes everyone else seemed to be chuckling at, but something stopped her. It was as if she had decided to walk forward and chains had latched onto each of her limbs, preventing all movement. No, she was frozen, forced to watch everyone else's merriment._

_ The music and champagne dulled her senses. She swayed side to side as the band played instrumental versions of cheesy pop songs. To Samantha, this was not her idea of classical music. Classical music invoked the senses and tugged at heartstrings. Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, those were the greats. Not an instrumental version of the latest Lady Gaga song. Still, it was the only music available to her, so she swayed. _

_ Samantha felt a tap on her shoulder and she spun around. Surely her eyes were deceiving her. Jonathan Crane was standing behind her, dressed in a black tux and a black mask, accentuating his electric blue eyes. He looked healthy and a smirk played upon his full lips. This is not the Jonathan Crane she saw a few weeks ago, emaciated and clothed in off-white Arkham issued clothes. Samantha held back, unsure of how to act._

_ "John-Jonathan?" Her voice waivered and she wanted to desperately cross her arms._

_ Jonathan leaned forward and his lips brushed Samantha's cheek, they were soft and warm. "Darling, what's wrong? I told you I was going to be running late. C'mon, let's dance." He took the glass of champagne and swallowed the remaining mouthful. After setting the glass down, he grabbed Samantha's hand and led her onto the dance floor. _

_ "Horrible music, isn't it? Jonathan asked, a grin flashing across his face. Samantha nodded and dug her fingers into Jonathan's shoulder and he looked surprised. "What's wrong?"_

_ Samantha swallowed hard. "Nothing, I've been so stressed lately." _

_ Jonathan leaned forward, his mouth next to her left ear. "Don't worry; everything's going to be alright. Just close your eyes." His voice was soft when he whispered and Samantha went limp in his arms. The pounding in her chest subsided and finally, Samantha let herself enjoy the dance. The music ended and Jonathan kissed Samantha on the lips with a ferocity and a single tear slid down her cheek as she felt the knife enter her body._

* * *

Her head hurt, she was drenched in a cold sweat, and above all: she was pissed. Samantha tried to get a view of her current surroundings, but the room was devoid of all light. Both of her hands and feet were bound; her hands tied behind the chair and each leg was tied securely against a chair leg. The floor creaked around her and muffled voices could be heard. The room smelled musky, reminding her of a basement one of the homes she lived in growing up.

This was the room she would die in, Samantha thought. One thing was definite though, she wouldn't go down without a fight, but she knew that the Joker would play with her as a kitten plays with a mouse before killing it; horrific thoughts flashed through her mind. Each thought brought along vivid images of various forms of torture. Samantha closed her eyes and threw herself further into the darkness.

"Alright, this man is extremely dangerous as all of you are aware," Commissioner Jim Gordon's voice echoed throughout the police station. His wary eyes locked onto the hanging images of the Joker, Samantha O'Reilly, and various Arkham guards who were supposedly involved in Samantha's kidnapping. He took a sip of coffee, which was horribly weak, and continued, "It's been six hours since Samantha O'Reilly was taken. Our time frame is crucial". _God knows what he'll do to her_, Gordon thought darkly.

A young man raised his hand. "This isn't the academy, Richardson, you can just speak up," Gordon exclaimed.

Richardson's ear turned pink and his expression was as if he had been slapped. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "Well, I think we should do a thorough search of the doctor's house."

"And why would we do such a thing?" Gordon challenged. "The Joker and his henchmen are careful. If he had planned on taking O'Reilly, the easiest way would be at the asylum and we've already done a thorough search."

Someone from the back called out, "let's ask the Scarecrow, he had a cell by that clown!"

"And you think they would be in cahoots together?" A woman shot back. "There's no way Crane would let that freak mess with his ex-wife."

No one noticed that Gordon had left the room. He was tired, physically and mentally. He walked to the roof of the building and eyed the infamous "bat signal". It had sad silent for months and he feared that the Batman was as weary as him. Gordon's family was still going through extensive therapy and his wife had threatened to leave for her mother's home. A familiar _whoosh_ was heard from behind and Gordon knew he was no longer alone.

The masked vigilante who was supposedly responsible for the murder of Harvey Dent stood stoically and Gordon was unafraid, for he knew the truth. He stood silent, blending carefully into the setting sun around him. His voice was deep when he spoke. "Any word?"

Gordon shook his head. "It's been silent and I've got my best men out there. At least the best men that I can trust."

"I'll check his old hideouts. There's a reason he wants her," Batman watched Gordon turn slightly to look over his shoulder and when Gordon looked back, the Batman had vanished. _Typical,_ Gordon thought and went back into the police station, in search of a stronger cup of coffee.

* * *

"_Tick, tock. Tick, tock."_

The room was blindingly white and burned Samantha's eyes. It was as if seeing for the very first time, everything should have been bright and beautiful, but Samantha had awoken to the sound of the Joker's maniacal laugh.

The Joker clicked his tongue. "This is your wake-up call, doc. You see, I'm very disappointed you slept so late. I was hoping you would stay awake in pure fear."

"I have nothing to fear, you can thank Jonathan for that," Samantha tried to shift and noticed she was still tied to the chair and a bolt of pain shot up her arm. How long ago that happened, she wondered.

"Ugh, that name. I'm glad he picked Scarecrow, it's a better moniker, don't ya think?" He asked gently. Pulling up a chair, he sat down and was at eye level with Samantha. For the first time, she noticed he had donned his infamous painted face: the one everyone in Gotham feared. "You see, I have plans for you. Just you wait," he giggled as he jabbed a syringe in the crook of Samantha's arm, her eyes widened.

"What that hell did you stab me with?" She growled and tried to rock her chair, but he slapped her across the face to distract her. Samantha's immediate silence pleased the Joker and he giggled again.

The Joker smiled and held a finger to his mouth, as if he was telling a secret. "Nothing, nothing at all," he said as he quickly left the room. Samantha was beginning to feel overcome with exhaustion. _Damnit,_ she thought,_ a sedative, how the hell did he get his hands on that? _She continued to ponder that thought as she drifted back to sleep.


	9. Screams

**AN: I apologize in advance for the short chapter! I've got a lot going on in the next one. I wanna give all my thanks to my dear followers (old & new)! I noticed that I have had over 2,000 views for this story so even if someone reads just one chapter, it definitely makes me feel special. I definitely want to thank my best friend, seremela05, for encouraging me! And that I do promise I'll make her my Beta reader for the next chapter :)  
**

_Round two,_ Samantha thought. She had been awake only minutes and felt as though she spent a long night drinking margaritas. Her head throbbed worse, most likely from dehydration. Her hair had fallen from its trademark bun and tickled the back of her neck. At least her nervous system was working, she thought. She coughed once, in hopes someone would hear her. A few moments later, she heard the door open behind her and the Joker walked in with one of his masked henchmen.

"'Morning sunshine! The birds are chirping, the sun shining, isn't it…_sickening?_" He giggled and crouched low enough Samantha's eye level. "Now, here's the deal: my buddy here is gonna escort you to the bathroom. Any funny business, and I mean any and I'll break one of your legs." The Joker's tone dropped to a menacing growl at the end which sent shivers down Samantha's spine. She nodded in compliance. "Oh, and before I forget, you've gotta put this on," the Joker said as he blindfolded Samantha. "Can't have you eyein' all my nice stuff." Samantha sighed and was once again enshrouded in darkness.

The henchman untied Samantha and grabbed underneath one of her arms, in an attempt to force her on her feet. It took a few moments for her to get used to walking again, after sitting for hours. The henchman shoved her in the bathroom and closed the door. Thankfully, he was smart enough to wait outside. The first thing Samantha did was rip off the blindfold.

The bathroom was extremely simple and contained only a mirror, sink, shower, and toilet. She noticed a black bag sitting on top of the lid of the toilet. Cautiously, she unzipped it and looked inside; she recognized her own toothbrush, toothpaste, shower supplies, and even clean clothes in the bag. With a sickening feeling, Samantha emptied the bag. _He's been in my home,_ she thought. A wave of dizziness rushed over her and put both hands on the side of the sink, waiting for the feeling to pass. After a moment, she looked up and into the mirror.

Strands of her chestnut brown hair were knotted and greasy looking. _It's gonna take more than a hairbrush to fix this_, she thought as she grabbed the brush and tried to make it comb her hair. Her skin was paler than normal and her large green eyes trailed down to the rest of her body. She could tell it had been a few days she had anything to eat or drink and her stomach rumbled. Sighing heavily, she turned on the shower and waited for it to warm up.

Samantha let the warm water flow over her tired body and as she lathered up, she noticed new, purple bruises forming on her arms and legs. The water seemed clean enough, but she felt as though the Joker had something else up his sleeve, so she took her time washing her thick hair. Thoughts rushed through her head: Bruce Wayne and his kindness, the Joker's menacing smile, and Jonathan Crane's piercing blue eyes. Samantha came to the realization she attracted damaged people. Or they were attracted to her, she couldn't tell. She washed her hair a second time.

"Hey, don't use up all my hot water, sweetheart!" The Joker's voice pulled Samantha out of her warped reverie. His tone seemed almost _playful_ and that scared her. A moment later, she felt the heat from the water switched to ice and she let out a surprised shriek. _Bath time's over_, she thought as the Joker's giggles rang through the bathroom. The Joker had provided the barest of clothes: a black tank top and grey gym shorts. After changing, she put the blindfold back on, to prevent any more beatings.

"So clean and beautiful!" The Joker exclaimed and placed a hand on each shoulder. "C'mon, I've got somethin' to show you." He led her back through the darkened maze and felt him shove her back onto the chair. He ripped off the blindfold in a graceful motion and the newest addition to her "cell" was sitting in front of her: a television.

The Joker walked over to the TV and picked up a black remote. "I figured," he pressed a few buttons and wasn't getting the result he wanted, so he growled. "Ah-hem, anyways, since you've been cooped up here, I would provide you with some entertainment." He finally accessed a DVD menu screen and pressed "play", laughing as he left the room.

A room unfamiliar to Samantha appeared on the screen, it resembled the very room she was one, except it was much darker and held two chairs, facing each other. A guard was easing a man in the chair facing the camera. He appeared in his early twenties and was confined in a straitjacket. His blonde hair looked disheveled and he was murmuring incoherent words. He looked pitiful, Samantha thought.

Another man entered the room. He was wearing a dark grey suit and was holding a notepad. "Hello, Fischer," his voice was soft and soothing, as if talking to a child, "and how are we today?" The man sat down and ran a hand through his thick, brown hair.

The boy, Fischer, shifted in his seat. "Fi-fine Doc."

"Excuse me?" The doctor's tone was chastising and fear flashed across Fischer's face.

"I'm…I'm sorry…I'm fine, Dr. Crane."

Dr. Crane jotted a few notes down then looked up, "how are the nightmares?"

Fischer swallowed hard enough to make his Adam's apple visibly move. "I c-c-can't sleep, they keep me up. I thought you make them stop!" His tone drastically changed and hatred filled his voice. "Make them stop, please" Fischer switched to a child-like tone.

"All in good time, Fischer, all in good time. Are we ready to begin?" Jonathan's voice deepened. Fischer shook his head and tried to back against his seat. His eyes grew wider as he noticed Jonathan was holding a needle.

"It's just a syringed, Fischer, we talked about this. You are helping the greater good of mankind," Jonathan crooned and he stood up as Fischer writhed in his seat, trying to get away. Jonathan was quick and injected the needle into one of Fischer's arteries in his neck, since he couldn't have access to his arm. Jonathan sat back down and picked up his notepad.

A few moments passed and Fischer's eyes had glazed over, then a piercing scream rang through the room and caused the camera's sound to distort momentarily. Fischer's screams were animalistic and sent chills down Samantha's spine, but she continued to watch, for what other choice was there?

"What do you see, Fischer?" Through the screams, Jonathan was able to remain calm. Fischer rocked back and forth in his seat, trying to loosen the straitjacket. His face was wet with tears and glistened on camera.

"THEY'RE CLIMBING! CLIMBING ALL OVER ME! PLEASE, DOCTOR! MAKE THEM STOP! I'LL BE GOOD, I'LL LISTEN, AND I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU NEED! JUST MAKE THEM STOP!" Fischer's voice was rapidly become hoarse and full of desperation. Jonathan Crane remained in his seat, observing.

"You can't fight the, can't you?" Jonathan asked.

Fischer fervently nodded his head. "I CAN'T, THEY'RE EVERYWHERE AND MY HANDS ARE TIED UP. JUST STOMP ON THEM FOR ME, PLEASE! OH GOD, THEY'RE GETTING CLOSER TO MY FACE!" Fischer's screams rose to an inhuman level and continued to distort the sound on the camera. He continued to thrash, wail, and eventually exhausted his voice. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide and his body convulsed, then fell limp.

Jonathan clicked his tongue, a habit he exhibited when agitated. Rising out of his chair he placed two fingers to the artery in Fischer's neck. Running his hands through his hair, he calmly walked over to the edge of the viewing area and pressed a button. A few moments later, the guard who ushered Fischer in appeared. "Please move him back to his cell; we'll deal with it in the morning." Jonathan began packing up his papers and placed everything in a simple briefcase.

"And where are you headed, doctor?" The guard inquired, unhooking Fischer's lifeless body. He tried his best to hide his agitation; he was paid very handsomely to acquiesce to the doctor's odd requests.

Jonathan sighed and ran his hand through his hair yet again. "Home. I've got to play the role of dutiful husband," and walked out of the room.

The video went blank and the Joker laughed. "After all this time, you thought he loved you. You were never his first love."

Samantha squirmed; she was never aware that Jonathan had let a patient die. How many times had he come home after torturing an innocent person to death?

"You think so highly of him, but where you're blinded by _affection_, you've left yourself so vulnerable," the Joker said as he began to exit the room. As he started to leave, he smacked his head. "I almost forgot!" He walked back to where the television sat and turned on a small tape recorder.

"Nighty-night, Sam!" And he left her to the sounds of recorded screams from Dr. Crane's other sessions.


	10. What do you fear?

**AN: Two chapters in ONE day, holy cannoli, I'm on a roll! Actually, I had been at my mother's house and had written a great deal over the weekend so I was able to type/edit at the same time. I may try and continue doing that. LivinJgrl123, thanks for your reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying this! And thanks to: DarkNScarrie, , HHopeK143, .Razorblades, ItsUpToMeNow, and Gorillazgurl98 for recently following/favoriting this! **

Arkham was dark. The doctors, nurses, volunteers, and secretaries had long since fled from their place of work. As the last janitor peeled out of his parking space, a lone security guard remained. He was unaware of the shadow moving behind him. Nor was he aware of the sleeper hold he was put in until it was too late. He was cautiously laid on the ground and would awake later with a horrible headache.

Batman maneuvered the halls of the asylum swiftly, carefully avoiding criminals and madmen he had caught in the past few years. He was careful to remain unseen, so that no one would alert other prisoners of the dark knight's arrival. Within the confines of many rooms, screams, moans, and cries could be heard. He approached room 204 and with amazing skill, he unlocked the door.

Jonathan Crane was breathing softly, the sleeping pills he was given had lulled him into a false sense of security and sleep had finally overtaken him. That is, until Batman was holding him against the wall by the throat.

"Oh, it's you," Crane's condescending tone would have been more effective if he was more awake. "I was wondering when you would be keeping your appointment with me." He placed a hand on each of Batman's arms, struggling to breathe.

The Batman tightened his grip on Crane's throat. "I've never scheduled an appointment, but we _do_ need to talk." He dropped Jonathan, who promptly scurried to the closest wall, vying for its protection. Batman stayed in the same spot. "You are aware that your wife has gone missing," he added. Jonathan mumbled something.

"Excuse me?" Batman considered grabbing Jonathan again, to emphasize the seriousness of the matter.

Jonathan's gaze didn't leave his nightshirt and began buttoning and unbuttoning the first three buttons in rapid succession. "I _said_ 'ex-wife'. She made that quite clear when I received the divorce papers in here. I do not care where she is." Satisfied with his shirt, Jonathan's ice-blue eyes looked up and locked onto the caped crusader's eyes. "Plus, whoever took her is in for one hell of a treat."

Batman crossed his arms. "Meaning?"

"I did have test subjects for my compound." Jonathan closed his eyes, fondly recalling the memory. "Samantha lovingly volunteered; she was young at the time, quite naïve. She was never quite the same after. She hides it pretty well, don't you think? But that's what SSRI's will do, my masked friend. While you were an actual mask to hide your pain, Samantha hides hers with medication." Jonathan folded his hands and placed them behind his head to get comfortable. He didn't care how long Batman stayed. As far as Dr. Crane was concerned, their session was over.

* * *

Alfred heard the roar of the tumbler and proceeded to bring Bruce some food. Since the Joker's escape, Bruce Wayne's mind thought of nothing but clowns. He was already sitting at his computer, a map of Gotham pulled up on the screen, when Alfred arrived to the cave below the mansion.

"I've brought you somethin' to eat, Master Wayne," he sat the tray down and scrutinized the computer screen. "Doctor Crane say anything useful?"

Bruce took a large bite of a sandwich and chewed, remaining deep in thought. "He tested his compounds on her." Alfred shook his head in disgust. Samantha O'Reilly had been the first woman since Rachel's death that Bruce had taken somewhat of a liking to, but Alfred also sensed it was so that Bruce could keep a close eye on the Joker. Bruce had gone off on a tangent while Alfred had been in thought.

"…see if I can get a list of her prescribed medications," Bruce mused. He began trying to hack into the Gotham Pharmacy's database and within moments, he was greeted with a patient lookup screen.

Alfred shifted his weight. "Isn't that private information?"

"Alfred," Bruce chastised. He entered Samantha's date of birth and a list of medications appeared on the screen; he had to sift through a prescription drug dictionary to decipher what each medication did. "Let's see, she gets a monthly prescription for escitalopram…that's an anti-depressant, various anti-anxiety meds," Bruce pointed to prescriptions of alprazolam and lorazepam. "And more recently, she's been getting mood stabilizers. See here?" Bruce swiveled the screen to show Alfred. "Abilify, I've seen that being marketed more frequently." Bruce leaned back in his chair, still processing what he had just found. His gaze met Alfred's and both men wondered the same thing: how long does it take to break an already broken woman?

* * *

Samantha's eyes fluttered open and her heart began to race as if a thousand birds decided to beat their wings simultaneously. Her first instinct was to reach in the drawer of her nightstand for a pill, swallow it without water, and wait. Her body tried to react, and then she remembered: she wasn't home. The second realization Samantha had was that the lights were on and her eyes locked onto the wall in front of her; a wall covered in pictures.

Personal photos of Samantha's family, old friends, and her life were taped up and someone in every photo was disfigured with the aid of a permanent marker. An audible gasp escaped as she noticed a familiar burlap mask was nailed in the center of the wall, its dead eyes burning into her soul.

"So, I thought this room need a little redecorating." The Joker's voice make Samantha jump, her eyes still transfixed on the mask of the Scarecrow. Hating to be ignored, the Joker walked into Samantha's view and the spell was broken, her gaze was once more attuned to the clown. She glared.

The volume of the Joker's voice dropped and he whispered, "what are _your_ deepest fears?" Not answering, Samantha continued to stare. Being starved and tied up left her feeling weak and frightened. The panic rose from her chest to her throat. "You said that I could thank the good doctor for not giving you anything to fear. I'm sure he'll agree when I say that's not true."

Samantha tried to stretch in her chair, her wrists tightening against the rope. A few days ago, she would have argued, spout out some snide remark, but without her medications, she knew her worse nightmares would find their way home again, inviting her to their warped game.

The Joker's intuition hadn't missed a beat. "You're not as weak as you think. I've gotten very skilled at injecting fluids into your system." His gaze followed Samantha's as her eyes flickered to the crook of her arm. "I've got great beside manners; you're just never awake to see them. I'll ask one more time: what is it you fear?"

"No-nothing," the single response made Samantha breathless.

"Wrong! But we have a lovely parting gift for you!" The Joker withdrew a folded piece of paper from the inside of his jacket. Cleaning his throat, he began to read: "I guess I'm too eager to please him. When we graduate, his tests and research will have secured our place at Arkham and then the real research and treatment can begin. I worry though, after every round of injections, I fear I'm losing grip on reality. I cry all the time now. And sleep eludes me. Jonathan says it'll pass and he's gotten a friend to write me some prescriptions. I love him, but he terrifies me and I don't think he'll ever feel for me as I do him." The Joker chuckled and continued to read to himself.

Samantha's diary had been hidden in the back of her closet. Journal entries from her days at Gotham University had been uncovered and she knew the Joker would cut into old wounds. She was sure he had torn apart her entire house and was using anything and everything that was personal to destroy her.

"Stop it!" She cried out; the panic was causing her body to shake. Or perhaps it was the fear causing her spasms.

The Joker jumped to his feet. "There's my girl! My wittle fighter!" He leaned down and pinched one of her cheeks. "Now, let's see you in action." He withdrew a syringe from a pocket and a pale green liquid sloshed inside it; Samantha's eyes widened.

"I don't know how much to give ya, but I'd be my right arm you've built up a tolerance for this stuff. Hell, I'd bet my left arm, too. I should have asked dear, old Scarecrow how much to give but you see, he's tied up at the moment." He went to insert the needle into Samantha's arm and his gaze met hers. "I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, I plan on enjoying _every_ minute."

Samantha felt the liquid enter her bloodstream; it was cold at first, and then quickly warmed. She knew that the dose she was injected with was a higher concentration; the early days of tests were made of a weaker formula. Her gaze moved from the Joker's menacing eyes to the pictures on the wall, her mind trying to grasp a happier memory, one where fear never existed for her.

The Joker's lips curled into a horrific smile as the first chorus of screams began.


End file.
